On Leaving
As probably everyone who is reading this can guess, I am leaving for France in approximately 6 hours. I am moving there for about 8 or 9 months to teach English to French elementary schoolers in a small town called L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. It is known as the Venice of Provence with its waterwheels and rivers, and famous for its antique fairs and weekly market. To say I am excited would be an understatement, but to say that I am apprehensive is also true. I have spent the past year and a half dreaming about this day and this moment, and it looks kind of like I thought it would. It is the days, weeks, and months before that were nothing that I imagined.
I have been fairly ambivalent about leaving for the last month. Honestly, my friends and family seem arguably more excited than I am. And I think the reason is a combination of two feelings. One is that since March, I had prepared myself for this program not to happen. I had come up with contingency plans, mentally told myself I would stay in my job for another year, and committed to delaying this almost-lifelong dream for another time. When I was accepted in late June (which was over two months later than planned), I didn’t let myself experience full excitement yet. There were a few other hurdles to get over. I had little bits of joy as I got closer and closer to my goal: happiness when I got in, cautious optimism when I found out it would be happening as a whole but was uncertain for Americans, relief when I found out Americans would be able to get visas, and finally, eagerness as I figured out how to get a COVID test in 72 hours. I would always correct people who asked when I was moving to France with a “hopefully, in late September.” Today is finally the day where I feel confident to say it’s happening.
The other reason, which is ironically somewhat the opposite of the first, is that I think deep down, some part of me always knew this was going to happen. It was a matter of when. This was an inevitability in my life, kind of like going to college or moving out of my parents’ house (and I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the privilege that comes with all of these things). Now that this moment is here, it’s kind of like, ‘yeah, this is happening, but wasn’t it always going to?’ Once I hit the mark of knowing I could get in the country, I had not only spent so much energy silently wishing the program would happen, I also was ready. Maybe I’m also a little superstitious, and didn’t want to jinx myself. I spent a lot of time these past few months knocking on wood.
As I said previously, the months leading up to my departure were not how I planned them. I did not get to say goodbye to the city I lived in and loved for the past 2ish years, and I miss Boston dearly. I did not get to say goodbye to my coworkers or friends in the ways I had planned. I did not get to spend time enjoying New England summers with Jack in the ways I had imagined. But that’s okay. I did get six and a half bonus months of time with my parents, my sister, and my dog. I got to live in a beautiful place on the water and not have to grocery shop for myself. I got to see Jack every few weeks, which made each time that much more special. And while I didn’t have one big goodbye party where I could say farewell to those close to me, I relished spending time in smaller groups of friends and reconnecting with old ones. All this to say that I really should adhere to the adage that God laughs when you try to make plans.
This post really has helped me put into words my bittersweet feelings about leaving at a time in my life when I feel fairly content. But perhaps that is the best time for a change, no?